


Adestes Fideles

by Vasalysa



Category: Space: Above and Beyond
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vasalysa/pseuds/Vasalysa
Summary: Recovering from being in the AIs' hands and a new member of the 127th Squadron, McQueen is assigned to TOTs duty.





	1. Adestes Fideles -TOTs duty

Disclaimer: The names of all 'Space: Above and Beyond' characters contained herein are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Network. These names have been used without their permission. All else is my own creation.

Rating: NC17 Language, violence.  
Spoilers: None  
Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

Adestes Fideles

Chapter One

“Can’t you get someone else to do it, ma’am?” The tall, silver blond man stood rigidly at attention, almost ram-rod straight. His body had not finished healing from the damage the AIs had inflicted and the pain from the healing injuries as well as irritation at the assignment made his voice sharper than usual.

The blonde woman behind the desk rose. “At ease, Captain.” As he obeyed, an almost concealed wince drew her attention. “The fact that you are still recovering, Captain, is most of the reason I decided on you. The Angels have a mission to fly and you have not been cleared for flight duty yet.” She stepped around her desk. “The commandant expressly asked for a member of this squad and, quite frankly, you’re all I can spare. Even though you’ve been a member of this squad for less than a week, already I know that unlike some other members of this squad, you can keep your temper and you definitely look every inch the picture Marine. And that’s what is needed.”

He started to speak, but closed his mouth.

“Go ahead and speak frankly, McQueen. And sit down.” She pointed to the chair.

Reluctantly, McQueen obeyed. “Captain Collins, I am not a suitable candidate for this task. Especially given what I am.”

“That is not a factor this time, McQueen. This particular shopkeeper has no problem with Invitroes. In fact, he has several in his employ. And most of his customers don’t have a problem either.” Collins leaned back against her desk. “You’re more likely to make it a problem if anything, McQueen. Don’t make it an issue.”

“Yes, Captain.” He sat stiffly.

“Mr. Crosby says that you can drop your dress uniform off anytime and change there before and after your shifts.” Collins frowned at his posture and raked a hand through her shoulder length hair. “Look, McQueen, you’re all I have. Don’t screw it up.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“For God’s sake, McQueen, loosen up. It’s not a death sentence to stand outside a toy store and collect toys for kids who wouldn’t get any otherwise. No Marine has ever died from this duty.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And try to look on the bright side, McQueen.”

“Bright side, ma’am?”

“You aren’t up north. Chicago already has 2 feet of snow and it’s still snowing. The odds of it snowing here in Alabama are pretty remote.” She was rewarded with the faintest of smiles. “Ah, so you do have a sense of humor.”

McQueen gave a brief nod. “Occasionally referred to as either dry, satirical or wicked.”

“Good to know. Look, McQueen, I know you’re not happy with this assignment, but someone has to do it and I certainly trust you to do the job. Last year, I made the mistake of letting Harrison do it and half the toys were broken. He couldn’t resist the urge to try them out. We had to make up the difference from our own funds. I don’t want that again. It gets very expensive, fast.”

“I understand, Captain.”

At least he was not sitting so ram-rod straight, Collins noticed. “And a personal observation from my own time doing it. Keep a mental track of the kinds of toys donated. That way if someone asks on the way in what kind of toys are needed, you can recommend boy or girl oriented ones.”

“Aren’t toys unisex?”

Collins sighed. “Talk to Mr. Crosby at least an hour ahead of time. I’ll let him explain. You start tomorrow morning at 1100. Your shifts are five to seven hours long, and you’ll be going through Christmas Eve.” From her desk, she took a folder. “Here’s all the information, including Mr. Crosby’s address.” Handing it to him, Collins said, “Because of your recovering status, I’ve placed orders in there for you to take five minute breaks every hour. It’s a good assignment for someone still injured.”

McQueen rose to take the folder.

“Dismissed, Captain.”

“Yes, Captain.” McQueen managed a decent snap turn and left, the folder under his left arm.

Shaking her head, Collins wondered about the enigma she had been handed in the form of Captain T. C. McQueen. His file told quite a few things, mostly by the omissions. Twenty days in an AI POW camp, rescued by a team of Navy Seals. McQueen’s medical report gave her a better than average idea of what the AI’s had done to McQueen with their ruthless interrogation techniques. The haunted look in his eyes told her he had broken at some point and those mental wounds were going to take time to heal, much longer than the physical ones. But the Navy Seals had reported that it had been because of McQueen’s attempt to escape for at least the second time that had enabled the team to break into the camp and rescue the POWs. The strength of will to continue fighting even after breaking told her he was one to keep in the squad. He would make an excellent Angry Angel.

What bothered her the most was the silent implication of the lead Navy Seal’s report. This man Ross implied that not all the damage done to McQueen had been inflicted by the silicates. She disliked the idea that other POWs had taken advantage of McQueen because he was an Invitro. That was not going to happen in her squad. If she had to beat heads, McQueen would be treated decently and not taken advantage of.

****

McQueen slammed the folder down on his desk with a quiet snarl of distaste. He did not want to be on review before a bunch of shoppers, especially Christmas shoppers. Dropping down into his chair, he relaxed his posture completely, well aware of how much pain his body still radiated despite his quicker than normal healing abilities. Wryly to himself, McQueen admitted that he was in no shape to fly. Just that morning his physician, Dr. Stewart, had told him that he would not be allowed to fly for at least another three weeks to give his skull fractures and brain bruising the time to completely heal.

Damning the AI’s, McQueen buried his head in his hands, grateful that his recent promotion to captain entitled him to private quarters. He absolutely needed to have some time alone after the experiences he had undergone. Even his shrink thought so. McQueen snorted at the ridiculous notion of a tank getting psycho-analyzed by a natural born and winced as still healing ribs twinged.

The urge to take a stiff drink rose and McQueen resolutely turned away from the sight of his small bar. Dr. Stewart had made it quite clear that any alcohol in his system during the next eight days and he would revoke McQueen’s flying status for another two months. And McQueen wanted to fly desperately. It was the only time he felt truly free. So ticking off Dr. Stewart was not an option. He needed to stay on her good side and be a model patient.

Seeing his small collection of books in the large bookcase made him wonder who had transferred his things from his barracks. McQueen hated the idea of someone snooping through his meager belongings. He had so little privacy that every little bit was treasured.

A sigh and McQueen reluctantly rose to open the closet. Might as well get his uniform ready so he could take it out. He had no intention of wearing it and risking someone damaging it on the way.

Two hours of work and his uniform gleamed again. All of the proper insignia were in place, including his silver captain’s bar. A captain barely a month and he had spent most of that time in an AI POW camp or the hospital. Today was the first day he had been allowed to leave the hospital for more than a few hours. Tonight he planned to listen to some Bach and relax without having to listen to other people complain.

McQueen turned his attention to the folder Captain Collins had handed him. Mr. Crosby owned the store which had been started by his grandfather nearly one hundred years ago. Specializing in children’s clothes, furniture, and toys, the Crosby Child Store gave generously to children’s causes and received loyal support apparently from its clientele.

The store’s address showed it to be roughly five miles from base on the border of the middle class area and the poorer section of town. A glance at the clock showed that it was 1300 hours. He might as well get it over with.

A taxi dropped McQueen off outside the store and McQueen shook his head briefly at the number of people going in and out at this time of the afternoon. A large box with a banner stating ‘TOYS FOR TOTS’ already stood beside the entrance. Hefting his clothes bag over his shoulder, McQueen took a quick look in the box. Half a dozen boxes were scattered about the bottom.

Braced for the noise of people inside, McQueen blinked in silent surprise at the relative quiet. Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony played and though the store held easily one hundred people, they spoke quietly. At the left rear of the store, McQueen saw a sign stating ‘PLAYLAND’ and a huge multicolored object that spiraled, climbed and crossed over itself. Through clear portions of the object children appeared and he decided it was some sort of gigantic toy for children to play in while their parents shopped. In the middle of the rear wall another sign read ‘REFRESHMENTS’. The right rear corner of the store appeared to be the offices.

McQueen wended his way to the rear, noticing as he approached that the play area was actually behind a pane of plexi-glass with an airlock mechanism so that as children and their parents entered or left, the noise from inside did not escape. He spotted what appeared to be a very large kid getting up from the bottom of the slide and then realized that it was a father followed by his small son which he scooped up and swung around. Giving the huge toy another look, McQueen realized that it was built with the idea of parents also getting inside. It was a fascinating concept as he spotted several other parents playing with their kids.

In the refreshments center, more parents and their children waited in line to order food or sat eating. The general noise level was higher but not as high as he expected from incursions to shopping malls and the like.

McQueen stopped outside the office door and glanced in. Several men and women sat working on computers. None looked up to notice him. He opened the door and immediately the nearest young man rose.

“May I help you, sir?”

Looking the young man straight on, McQueen stated, “I am here to see Mr. Crosby. I believe he is expecting me. I am Captain McQueen.”

“Oh, yes. Just one moment. Please wait here while I go let him know you’re here.” The young man turned on his heel smartly and trotted down the aisle to the rear where he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

A faint giggle reached McQueen’s ears and he schooled himself not to react as it was followed by, “Oh, this one is so much cuter than last year’s.”

The young man stepped out from the corner. “This way, sir.”

McQueen followed and realized that the young man was an Invitro as the shoulder length hair swung aside revealing the neck navel. Before the young IV could open the wooden door at the end of the short hall, McQueen asked,

“Do you like working here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re treated right?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, sir.” The young Invitro grinned. “In fact, I’m going to college with the help of Mr. Crosby. He treats us like his children, strict but fair. Both of them work here as well, learning the trade from the inside out.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why would a soldier be interested in whether or not I’m treated right here?”

“Because I am an Invitro.”

“Ah, now it makes sense. Don’t worry, Captain McQueen, we are all well taken care of here.” The grin faded and a serious look entered the young Invitro's eyes. “Mr. Crosby also runs a halfway house for rehabilitating those of us who fall by the wayside as he says. A full time medical staff and Invitro shrinks to help us come out the other side.” He gave a little shrug. “I’m one of those who came out the other side. I was bought by a whore house before I was born. After two years, I was a real mess, hooked on green meanies and unable to function in any normal capacity. I was dumped on the streets. One of Mr. Crosby’s aides found me, bought my contract for pennies, and brought me to the halfway house. It took me six months to recover. I’ve been clean for nearly one year now. I’m working off the rest of my contract with Mr. Crosby. You can ask any of us here and you’ll find that we all have the same sort of story. So, we work for Mr. Crosby and we show him and everyone who comes here that we can be just like them, hard working and willing.” 

The young man paused and McQueen could see the effort it took to stop talking. “I better get you in to see Mr. Crosby now, sir.” He turned and opened the door. “Mr. Crosby, here is Captain McQueen to see you.”

“Thank you, Derrick. Please come in, Captain.” The voice was no longer young.

Behind an oak desk sat a lean black man in his forties. A square face with a ready smile. He waved toward the chair opposite him. “Forgive me, Captain, for not rising, but I met with some misfortune this morning. I sprained my ankle on my front step.”

“That’s all right, sir.” McQueen looked quickly around for a place to hang his uniform. The office impressed him. The furniture appeared to be real oak, at least several decades old by their appearances. The six bookcases, the desk, the coat rack and the solid wooden chairs were well cared for, but he spotted the signs of real use over a long period of time. Areas slightly more polished than others, little dings and scratches accumulated over time, shallow spots where the wood had been actually worn away; all told the story. His eyes strayed back to the bookcases. He had to restrain himself from walking over to the books and start perusing them. Tucked into the corner of the room was a large settee covered with what appeared to be dark brown fabric. 

“Go ahead and use the coat rack, Captain. Derrick, please inform Susan that I’ll need the items I requested in about ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Derrick left, closing the door, as McQueen set his dress shoes on the floor under the coat rack.

“Now, Captain, I was told to expect you by Captain Collins. She was good enough to give me some background about you.” Crosby raised a hand as McQueen spun around. “Before you say something you’ll regret, hear me out. She figured I needed to know a bit about you so I could help you understand some things. And she was entirely correct. I did some quick research on you. No prying into personal records, just the public records.” Pointing back to the chair, Crosby said, sternly, “Sit down, Captain. I am not an enemy. I intend to help you, but first you need to hear what I have to say.”

Slowly McQueen made his way to the chair.

“I understand that you were one of the unfortunates sent to Omicron Draconis. Only six out of your batch of thirty-four survived long enough to be sent back to Earth.” Chin in hand, Crosby kept his eyes focused on McQueen. “You were sent directly from the facility to the mines, I take it?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“So you returned with no education to fit in here. A damn shame. I hate seeing such potential wasted.” Crosby sighed and sat back. “You served some time at Port Riskin before enlisting in the Corps. Which I think is a good choice for most Invitroes. Any way, since enlisting you’ve done quite well for yourself, Captain. Even with the enforced stay with the AI’s, you’ve risen faster and farther than any other IV in our Armed Forces. And if you keep your head and temper, you’ll go farther. I understand and respect your decision to make the Corps your life.”

Tapping his fingers idly on the arm chair, Crosby continued. “I have no doubt you’ve learned a lot since you returned to Earth, and not all of it was good. Humanity is a very flawed creature, McQueen, and sometimes it seems that the bad outweighs the good. Right now, though, is the one time a year that humanity in many places strives toward good. So I capitalize on it where I can. And I think this time you’re going to be one of the things I can work with.”

Crosby’s gaze burned. “Have you read a lot of military history, McQueen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the sir, McQueen. I’m not an officer and due to a medical problem, never was or will be.” Crosby’s jaw tightened momentarily. “All right. What happened on the Christmas’ during the two World Wars?”

McQueen dragged the information out of his memory. “The fighting ceased for the day.”

“Yes. Both sides, without talking to one another, agreed to a one day truce on that particular day. Troops from both sides met and exchanged items, drank together and sang carols. Then the next day they went back to killing one another. That is a belief system so ingrained in people that they have to follow it even in a war of such magnitude. So I use that belief system to try to educate my fellow humans. And because they have been indoctrinated with this belief their entire lives, they find themselves learning, slowly, but they are learning, here at any rate.” Crosby took a deep breath. “Sorry, a tendency to pontificate arises occasionally. My father always thought I should be a preacher.”

McQueen waited quietly.

“So, what does that have to do with you and your 'job' here? Some would say not a thing. I, on the other hand, well....” Crosby smiled. “By having you and the 'Toys for Tots' barrel outside, I am forcing people to remember that not everyone is as fortunate as they are. In fact, a great many people are not in the fortunate crowd, including Invitroes. My father instituted a policy that I'm passing onto my son. Those people who do not have a lot of money, but have children, can deposit money as they can in a special account with me throughout the year. Then when December rolls around, they find that the funds they've deposited are either doubled, tripled, or, in some cases, quadrupled. It depends on the circumstances of the family. No child deserves to go without a present of some sort on Christmas. So we do our best to insure no child in our area does.”

A quiet knock sounded and Crosby called out, “Come.” As a young woman entered carrying a manila envelope, Crosby smiled again. “Thank you, Susan. Just hand the envelope to Captain McQueen, please. Ah, and would you ask Derrick to arrange for my lunch to be in here?”

“He's already arranged it, sir.” Susan smiled back at Crosby and then down at McQueen, her smile fading away as she handed him the envelope. “Anything else, sir?” Her eyes snapped back up to Crosby.

“No, thank you, Susan.” As the door shut behind Susan, Crosby shook his head. “I've given up on getting her to stop calling me sir. But at least she no longer runs from strange men.”

The envelope weighed somewhat heavily in his hands, McQueen noted, and whatever was inside consisted of several items of varying sizes and weights. As his fingers twitched toward the clasp, McQueen reined in his curiosity with difficulty. It was for his host to provide him with permission.

Crosby chuckled softly. “You've been taught well, McQueen. It's rare to see someone actually wait for permission before opening something they've been given. Go ahead. Everything in that envelope is yours. Permanently.”

Struggling to appear calm and collected, McQueen opened the envelope, careful not to tear the paper. He laid each item on the desk before him. Two separate key cards, a pocket-sized book with a brown paper cover, a fan shaped box and several sheets of extremely fine paper. Opening the book, he found it was a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War, suitable for slipping inside a flight suit pocket. The box held five odd looking brushes covered in oriental letters, a small porcelain bowl, an equally small spoon, a partially carved interesting colored rectangular stone, a black stick marked with more oriental letters, and a large flat bowl like plate. Closing the box, he tried to hide a frown as he looked up at Crosby. “I don't understand. The book, it's perfect for taking on missions and I thank you for it. I've been meaning to get my own copy of it now for some time. But the rest of it...” He swept his hand over the pile, fingers not quite touching the items.

“I'll explain it all. First, the key cards. The predominately black one is to the store's front door. The other one will get you into my office.” Crosby held up a hand to forestall McQueen's immediate attempt to speak. “Listen,” he snapped.

Once McQueen forced himself to sit back and nod once, his jaw tight, Crosby continued. “After talking to both Collins and Dr. Stewart, both of whom called me incidentally, I realized I had to change a few expectations. You are still on the injured list as your doctor so very forcibly told me. I expect you to arrive at least thirty minutes before your shift is to start, though I would prefer it if you were here an hour early. You are to take a five minute break every hour. On days when your shift runs through the lunch hour, you will take a thirty minute break at eleven and another one at one-thirty. You may spend these breaks here in my office. A light meal will be provided and you may relax and read any of my books you desire to.” Crosby grinned at the startled look on McQueen's face. “Yes, I saw your interest immediately. I do not mind in the least. They are here to be read by anyone who will enjoy them. Now on days you're here during the dinner crowd, your dinner breaks will start at four and six thirty.”

“Sir, this is...” McQueen struggled to find the words to express his astonishment and felt immediate regret that he must turn down such a generous offer.

“Nonsense, McQueen. I have my reasons for all this. I do not have to explain them to you, but I will give you a couple.” Crosby held up his hand, three fingers extended. Bringing one finger down with every point, he said, “One, you are still dealing with the trauma of having been a guest of the AIs, and I seriously doubt you want to subject yourself to the mad crowds who will be cramming into the local eating establishments. There is a small kitchen that provides meals for all my employees and it is not a problem to add you to the list. Two, that odd looking settee over there is equipped with a massage unit which I can guarantee will help with the back pain you'll be experiencing. Three, I will be discussing whatever books you read with you, either before your shift or after it.” Setting his hand down flat on the desk, Crosby added, “Finally, I was given the impression that while you are here, you are under my orders and this is the way it will be.”

For a moment, McQueen bristled, irritated at Crosby telling him what to do, but he realized that mostly the man had merely restated his standing orders from his doctor. In addition, he was being allowed to do something he enjoyed, reading. He relaxed and nodded once as he forced himself to settle back into the chair.

“Good. Now that's out of the way, what are you doing tonight?”

McQueen hesitated, mostly from the desire to retain his privacy. “Nothing much, except relaxing and going to bed early.”

“Good thinking.” Crosby gestured toward the still unexplained items. “Then you should have time to try your hand at this. If you would go to that bookcase,” he pointed to the one behind McQueen, “and bring me the fifth book from the left on the third shelf from the top, I would appreciate it. You are a bit more mobile than I am at the moment.”

Bowing his head briefly, McQueen went to fetch the indicated book. “How do you know the precise location of the book?”

“I have a photographic memory. Until I actually talked to you, I wasn't sure which book would suit you best.” As McQueen slid the book out and looked at it, he added, “It's the best one of the lot, it goes slowly enough at first so that you master the skills and has really good projects and ideas later on.”

Looking at the title of the book, Learn the Art of Sumi-E: Japanese Ink Painting, McQueen thumbed open the book and glanced through the roughly two hundred pages, realizing that the box held supplies. “Why me?” he asked, raising his eyes to Crosby.

“To help you gain balance in your life. The military is going to be your life, I can tell that, but you need to balance the destruction aspect with the ability to create beauty. The kit is small, easily transported, and I believe will give you a great deal of pleasure. I like to be able to give people something like this.” 

Slowly moving back to his chair, McQueen shook his head. “This is all too much, sir. I can't accept all of this.”

“Yes, you can. They are gifts, not bribes or anything like that. I like you, McQueen. Which is more than I can say about the last several Marines who have taken the post.” Crosby smiled gently. “If you leave them, then they will just wait right there until you take them home with you.”

“Home,” snorted McQueen. “Four small rooms.”

“But now that you're a captain, they are private.”

McQueen nodded once. “It's been hard...” Realizing he was about to start blurting out things he would rather not talk about, he shut his mouth. After a deep breath, he said, “Thank you for the gifts. When the toy drive is over, I'll return the key cards.”

“No, you won't. Feel free to drop in anytime and pick up a book or talk. It will be good to have someone of your caliber to talk to. You will find that some of these books the government is not exactly encouraging people to read.” Crosby sighed. “I miss my wife greatly. She was a very intelligent woman with strong opinions. My children, though also quite intelligent, have not the life experience to be a challenging conversationalist.”

“Whereas I have the life experience, albeit crammed into a short life.” McQueen tried to feel anger, but could not dredge it up.

“You are also a very intelligent man, McQueen. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Use that brain of yours to advance your chosen career. Just don't blind yourself to life outside the military. Never stop learning, never.” Crosby sighed and pushed away from his desk slightly. “Forgive me. I've seen too many people lock themselves into little boxes and, even when you remove the boxes, they continue to live as though inside them.”

A strong knock sounded and the door opened before Crosby could speak. Stepping into the room, a young black man said, “Father, it's time for your medication.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.”

McQueen rose, gathering up the presents and sliding them into the envelope. “I should leave now. I will be back tomorrow for my first shift.... early.” He was rewarded with Crosby's smile.

“Enjoy yourself, McQueen. Remember, it is for fun and relaxation.”

“Yes, sir.”

During the taxi ride home, McQueen struggled to refrain from opening the envelope. The urge to study the Japanese art book was nearly irresistible, but he managed to resist until after eating dinner in the Officer's Mess which was a definite step up in the world from the Army enlisted mess he had eaten in at Port Riskin. Settling into a chair by the window, listening to Bach's Brandenburg Concertos, he cracked open the book, intending to read the first several chapters.

****

McQueen arrived back at the Crosby Child Store at 1400, frustrated by his attempts with the Japanese calligraphy the night before. Making his way to the back, he saw the store was just as busy as it had been yesterday. Crosby's office door was unlocked, so he knocked before entering.

“Ah, McQueen, good to see you.” Crosby looked up from a computer terminal on his desk. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. I'll be busy for a while. Have to find out what happened to a shipment of shoes.”

Perusing the shelves, McQueen found a wealth of books and wished he could read them all. He brought out one on early twentieth century history and made himself comfortable on the settee.

The shipping problem had not been resolved when McQueen decided he better change into his dress uniform. As he picked up the carefully covered uniform, he wondered where he would change.

“Through there.” Crosby waved toward the far wall and a door that McQueen hadn't noticed the previous day. “I put a spare razor out for you.”

Twenty minutes later, McQueen stood outside beside the toy barrel, prepared to endure.

****

Venturing back into Crosby's office an hour later, McQueen hoped that the man would be able to talk to him briefly. He found Crosby still apparently absorbed with his computer terminal. With a sigh, he started to leave.

“What's bothering you, McQueen?” Crosby asked, without looking up.

“Gender specification of toys.” He deliberately used as obtuse a description as he could.

Crosby chuckled and pushed back from the desk. “Wondered if you would ask. Well, girls tend toward things like dolls, tea sets, dress up, and other non-violent things. Boys generally go for cars, planes, guns, and other more violent things. Stuffed animals are always a good thing, bears especially. In clothes and the like, the colors pink, white, lavender, and green are usually associated with girls while blue, brown and black are normally boys. Does that give you enough to make suggestions?” He raised an eyebrow, still grinning.

“Yes, thank you.”

****

By the end of his shift at 1600, McQueen felt exhausted and his back hurt as did his feet. He wondered how the hell the Marines who volunteered for the Rifle Corps survived standing on their feet for so long. The office was empty when he entered and he sank gratefully onto the settee, sighing with relief.

Crosby came from the bathroom a moment later, walking awkwardly with a cane. “Damned, but I'll be glad when this cast comes off.”

“Why the cast if it's a sprain?” McQueen marked his place with a finger as he closed the book.

“I have a habit of overdoing it and making an injury worse.” Crosby laughed sharply. “It's to keep me from managing to break my ankle. In some ways, I think I would have preferred that to a sprain. A break would have been walkable by now.”

“I can't imagine being laid up with a broken bone for six weeks to six months.” McQueen shook his head.

“Bone filler only became authorized for general use in 2047.” Sitting in his chair, Crosby said, “So, how did your first stint go?”

“I'm glad to be off my feet.”

Laughing softly, Crosby shook his head gently. “Ok, I won't ask further. But if you have any questions like you did earlier, I'll answer them.”

McQueen shook his head firmly.

“As you wish. Now, for your information, since tomorrow is Sunday, it'll be light in the morning, but really pick up in the afternoon. A lot of people go to church in the morning and since it is the weekend after Thanksgiving, they're starting to panic about getting their shopping done in time. The closer we get to Christmas, the more rushed people will become. Bear that in mind, but do not hesitate to draw attention to you and the barrel.”

Grimacing, McQueen glanced down toward the book in his lap.

“That is why you are here.”

“I know. I just prefer not to be drawing attention to myself.”

“Understandable. Don't let me interrupt your reading.”

****'

By Monday afternoon, McQueen felt like he was settling into the routine fairly well. His notion was somewhat abused when a yellow school bus dropped off half a dozen children across the street. One of the boys caught sight of him and pointed.

“Hey, look, a soldier.”

Another boy glanced at McQueen and shook his head. “Nah, it's just some dummy that old man Crosby dressed up and put out.”

“How do you know that?” asked the first boy.

“It never moves.” Even as McQueen frowned slightly, the second boy yelled, “Look, it's Batty Becky. Get her.”

Three boys, including the two speakers, and a girl charged across the street, aiming for a spot behind McQueen. A light brown haired girl ran past McQueen with the others right on her heels. A hand grabbed her by the back of her shirt and down she went only twenty feet from him. McQueen hesitated on interfering, not wanting to get into hot water with irate parents, and while he debated with himself, Becky fought furiously from her attackers. Blood flowed from noses and scratches. 

Something shiny bounced away from the fight and McQueen sighed as he saw that Becky was being systematically beaten by the boys while the girl merely held Becky down. The worse offender was the boy who had stated that he was a dummy and, with one hand, McQueen grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, lifting him off Becky. The boy who hadn't spoken yet was seized with his other hand.

“That's enough,” McQueen growled. “Fighting is one thing, bullying is another. Four on one is bullying.”

The four aggressors stared at him with wide eyes, shocked at the fact that he had interfered. The first boy raised his chin and tried to sound defiant. “It's our business. Stay out of it.”

“Being a bully is a bad thing. Do I need to find out who your parents are?” He saw Becky getting to her feet, holding a hand to her bleeding nose and trying to straighten out her clothes.

The threat of parents took the defiance out of the four. “No, sir,” came quietly from them.

Setting the two boys down, McQueen said, “I better not catch you beating up on anyone else, let alone Becky. Now get out of here.”

The four ran off and McQueen turned to talk to Becky, only to find she had disappeared. Looking up and down the street, he spotted her ducking into a bakery up the street. He shook his head at her apparent ungratefulness and spotted the sparkle of something on the sidewalk. Picking it up, he found it was a Marine lieutenant's silver bar, the clasp still on the pin. Tucking it into his pocket, he wondered why the girl had been carrying it.

The matter of the insignia slipped from his mind until he was ready to leave the store for the night almost three hours later. Stepping outside, dressed in his flight suit, he spotted the girl on her hands and knees where the fight had occurred. He studied her for a moment as she scoured the pavement. Not familiar with children's ages, he guessed she was maybe eight or ten. A dirt smudge covered her right cheek and nearly half of her shoulder length hair had escaped its confining pony tail. Spots of blood splattered her worn, thread bare blue jeans and her light blue short sleeve shirt. He grimaced at the thought that she hadn't gone home to change clothes. From the frantic way she was searching, he knew the insignia meant a great deal to her.

Crouching down, he held the insignia out to her, his fingers rubbing the well polished silver. “I found it, Becky,” he said quietly. “Who's was it? Your father's?”

Taking it from him quickly, she glanced up, giving him a fast look at her brilliant blue eyes, before she stared down at the sidewalk. “No, Father was a scientist. This was Joe's, he was going to marry Mom, but didn't show up for the wedding. He was nice.” Her voice barely reached his ears and the insignia was tightly clasped in her hand.

“Didn't you go to school today?” he asked, standing up and holding out his hand.

Hesitating, she stared up at him. She took his hand after a second. “Mom will skin me alive if she sees me talking to you. She hates Marines now.”

“Not really fair to taint us all since one stood her up.”

Becky gave a tentative smile. “I know, but she's really mad about it still. He paid for the church and everything, then didn't show up. Mom didn't even know what unit he was with or anything.”

“Why haven't you gone and changed your clothes? You've got blood all over what you're wearing.”

Her face closed up and her voice was tight. “I had to go to work.”

“Surely you're still supposed to be in school.” He frowned down at her.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she scuffed her shoe against the pavement. “I only go to school in the morning. I have to work in the afternoon so we can eat.”

“Surely you're too young to be working. Isn't there another way?”

“Mom won't work for one of the corporations. Says they are little more than slave drivers.” Becky shrugged. “It's ok. I manage to do all my homework and all the really hard classes I've got in the morning. Mr. Constable is really nice. He lets me have any mistakes made, so at least I get enough bread and stuff to eat. I even get to take some home. See?” She held up a brown paper bag that bulged. “Tonight, we've got cinnamon rolls, too. They were a bit burnt, but once you get rid of that, they're fine.”

“Becky, get away from him!” a shrill voice snapped.

“It's ok, Mom,” Becky announced, looking past McQueen. 

Turning, McQueen saw a woman, towing a very small black haired boy who looked barely able to walk. “Ma'am,” he said quietly, not wanting to rile the woman further.

“I've told you, Becky, to stay away from men you don't know.” The woman shouldered past McQueen, totally ignoring him as she stared down at her daughter. “What have you been doing? Just look at your clothes.”

“It wasn't me, Mom, honestly. It was Dexter and his group. Again. He,” Becky looked up at McQueen, “he pulled them off me. Thank you, McQueen.”

“You're welcome, Becky.”

Stiff backed, Becky's mother said, never looking him in the face, “Thank you.” She turned back to her daughter. “Take Joey straight home. I have some shopping to do.”

“Yes, mother.” Becky sighed, but couldn't help smiling when Joey held up his arms, calling out, “Icky! Up, Icky!”

She picked the youngster up and chucked him under the chin. Propping him up against her hip, Becky quickly looked at McQueen. “Bye.”

“Bye,” McQueen answered as she walked away.

“Leave my daughter alone,” growled the woman standing beside him. “Stay away from her.”

“I have no intention of harming Becky.” He straightened and stared down at her, feeling his face go impassive. “I rescued her from four other children. It is only natural that I am interested in who I rescued.”

“Just stay away from her.” Flinging her brown hair over her shoulder, she marched past him into the store.

Shaking his head at the woman's reaction, McQueen shrugged and turned his attention toward getting a taxi. Seeing the traffic congestion, he changed his mind and decided to walk back in the darkening day. The exercise should give him a realistic idea of his healing.


	2. Adestes Fideles - Mysteries

The names of all 'Space: Above and Beyond' characters contained herein are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Network. These names have been used without their permission. All else is my own creation.

Rating: NC17 Language, violence.  
Spoilers: None  
Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

Adestes Fideles

Chapter Two

The next day, McQueen kept an eye out for Becky and nodded as she made sure to reach the bakery before the other children arrived. His shift was through the dinner hour this time and he was about to go in for his five minute break at 1800 when he saw her leave the bakery, heading toward him. He decided to wait.

“Hi,” she said. “I brought you a caramel roll.” Holding it out in it's own clear plastic bag, Becky reminded him of a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move.

“Thank you.” He took the bag. “I'll eat it after my dinner.”

“Mom really tore into me last night. But I told her you're nice.”

“You shouldn't do something that will make your mother angry.”

Becky shrugged. “Everything these days makes mom angry.”

“Joseph is your younger brother?”

“Yeah. Mom calls him Joe's legacy.”

That answered another question McQueen had, leaving the really big one. Why had this Joe just up and disappeared? “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

“You already asked one.” She grinned, showing gapped teeth. “Go ahead.”

Moving over to a corner, McQueen asked, “When did Joe disappear? How soon before the ceremony was it?”

“He called mom the night before and said he might be a bit late for the ceremony. That was the last we ever heard from him.”

“When was this?”

Becky frowned in concentration. “Let's see, Joey's turned two last month and he was born eight months after Mom and Joe were to be married, and that was the tenth of March. Mom cried all night.”

“How old were you?” It amazed him that she could remember all that. He had never been impressed by the children he had met.

“Eight. I just turned ten in October.” Becky bit her lip. “I better go or Mom will pitch a fit. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“I'll be here until twenty hundred tomorrow.” When she giggled and shook her head, he said, “What?”

“You military guys all talk funny. What does twenty hundred mean?”

“Eight at night, “ he answered, suppressing a smile. “We also call minutes mikes. So, I can say that my five mike break is over by now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interfere.”

As Becky became serious and looked like she would run, McQueen said, “It's ok, Becky. I'll be going to dinner in thirty mikes anyway.”

“See, that sounds funny, but I like it. See you tomorrow.” Becky waved at him and darted off up the street.

Briefly he frowned after her, wishing he had a last name for this Joe fellow.

**** 

Life settled into a routine by the end of a week. Every day, McQueen arrived early at the store and spent time talking to Nathaniel, as Crosby insisted that he be called, and reading. Before going home, he spent time talking to Becky, eventually discovering to his dismay that she had no idea what the missing Joe's last name was. He found that she was a very intelligent girl who sometimes asked piercing questions. At night, he worked on his Japanese painting, finally managing to do some basic lines that passed his critical eyes.

The nagging curiosity about what had happened to Lt. Joe kept eating at him and McQueen quickly exhausted his available resources, leaving only one place left for him to try.

After breakfast, McQueen walked across the base, enjoying the sunshine, to the religious center. As he eyed the symbols above the door, he wondered if the building could be called a church since it appeared to service at least four different faiths. A crescent, a double-tiered cross, a simple cross, and a five pointed star adorned the door's mantle. Shrugging, he entered, thinking that they all worshiped the same god, just by different names.

He found the inside to be well lit, with wooden pews extending to the front of the building where the pulpit stood. Glancing around, he saw that the pulpit was on discreet wheels, allowing it to be moved as necessary, that dividers could be drawn both across the width of the building as well as the length sectioning off areas, and that a heavy table, also on wheels, could function as an altar for the different religions.

A man, dressed in a dark blue flight suit with white collar, entered from a side door as McQueen reached the front of the room. “May I help you?” 

“I'm hoping that someone here can help me. I'm looking for some information.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Of a religious nature or private?”

“I'm trying to find out about someone who might have come here to talk or confess or whatever it is he'd do before getting married.” McQueen decided that this was a bad idea and started to turn away. “I shouldn't have come here.”

“Why? Because you're an Invitro? God doesn't care, Captain.” The man smiled broadly when McQueen spun around to face him. “Yes, I know who you are. You probably don't remember me. They had you drugged to the gills when I saw you in the hospital. By the way, you have quite a friend in that Navy Seal, Ross. He made sure all of his men were taken care of, but then he was right there, insisting that you be cared for properly.”

“What were you doing there...” McQueen searched the flight suit for a name tag or rank.

“Sorry. I'm Captain Douglas. I was there to administer last rites to two young men who were dying. Damned AIs. The second one was in your room and I watched you battle three nurses and two doctors before Ross calmed you down, telling you that it would be ok. You listened to him and they were able to put you under in order to work on you. It was quite an impressive show.”

McQueen's mouth twisted bitterly. “I live to please.” He gave a mock bow.

“No, you don't, McQueen and there's no reason to take an attitude with me. I have no problem with you, so long as you don't have a problem with me. Every man has an equal chance in the eyes of the Creator, my son.”

“Don't call me that. My creator was some lab tech with a test tube and a petri dish who couldn't come up with a better way to live.” McQueen's back stiffened as he prepared for battle.

“We're all God's children, no matter how we come into the world. McQueen, the technology that gave you life was developed originally to make it possible for women who were incapable of bearing children to term to have children. AeroTech just suborned the technology and turned it into a profitable business. Selling souls and bodies is as old as humanity, I'm afraid.” Douglas sighed. “Look, we can stand here and talk at cross purposes all day, but that won't get you the information you're looking for. Now, are you interested in finding it or are you just spoiling for a verbal battle?”

McQueen realized what was happening and forced himself to back down, making himself relax his posture. “The information, please.”

“This way, please.” Douglas gestured toward the door he had stepped through and waited on the other side as McQueen followed. He led the way down the corridor to another room. “So, what's up? Who do you need to know about? Have a seat,” Douglas said as he went to sit in one of two chairs in the small library.

“I'm looking for a young lieutenant who was going to be married two years ago. Almost three now. It appears that he disappeared the night before the wedding.”

“Don't know that I'll be able to help you much, then. I only came here a bit over a year ago. You'll want to talk to my predecessor, Father Patrick O'Reilly. And yes, he's just as Irish sounding as his name. Parents are from Ireland and he can talk your ear off if you give him half a chance.” Douglas grabbed a notepad and a pen. “What specific information can you give me?”

“Not a lot. He was supposed to be married on March tenth, he was a lieutenant, and his first name was Joe, Joseph, or some variant.” McQueen sighed. “It's not much at all, is it?”

“Who knows? It might be enough to ring a bell.” Douglas looked at the notepad, then glanced up at McQueen. “I'll track down Father O'Reilly and ask him. Once I have any information at all, I'll get in touch with you. Ok?”

“Yes, sir.” McQueen rose and headed for the door.

“By the way, McQueen.” Douglas waited until McQueen turned toward him before saying, “If you ever just need to talk, I'm always willing to listen. No preaching. Just an ear to bend.”

McQueen nodded curtly and left, knowing there was nothing more he could do about the search. Noting the time, he sped up, aware that if he hurried, he would be able to get an hour of light exercise in before leaving for Crosby's. His body should be up to a bit of sweating.

**** 

Becky darted off to the bakery to get there before the other children arrived at their bus stop and McQueen watched her go, somewhat bemused, carefully cradling the pipe cleaner angel in his hand. Her insistence on his taking it had surprised him as had her calling him a friend. Being told that friends can give, and receive, presents without feeling guilty or being required to reciprocate by a child took a bit of getting used to. He glanced down at the multicolored angel and smiled gently, wondering where the hell he was going to put it until he took a break.

Turning toward the toy box, McQueen froze on seeing both Crosby and Becky's mother standing in the doorway, watching him. To his surprise, Becky's mother did not launch into an immediate tirade. 

She looked down at Joey, perched on her hip, kissed the boy on the forehead and then turned back to him. “I owe you an apology, Captain. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did.”

“Accepted if you'll accept mine for talking to your daughter without your permission. We had already introduced ourselves and I didn't think of your reaction. I'm sorry.” McQueen held himself straight.

“Granted.” Looking over her shoulder at Crosby who leaned on his cane, she said, “Nate, you were right. I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Just because Joe.... Well, just because of one Marine, I shouldn't paint them all with the same brush.”

“I'm proud of you, Mary. Now, I'm afraid I have some calls to make.” Crosby looked over at McQueen. “I'll see you in two hours?”

“Yes, sir. For my first dinner break.”

Crosby sighed, shook his head, and turned away, muttering, “Marines and rank.”

McQueen chuckled, enjoying the fact that Crosby loved to complain about being called sir, but had stopped trying to get him to cease while in public. 

“Do you dance, Captain?” When McQueen gave her a sharp look, she shook her head. “No complications, Captain. I'm asking because Becky has a dance coming up and she doesn't know how to dance or anything. I can't teach her. I don't know either. Nate was going to, but with his leg and all....” Her voice trailed away as he just looked at her. “It was just a stupid question. Forget it.” She started to turn away, to walk up the street.

He snapped out of his surprised stance. “Wait, please. It wasn't a stupid question. It's just that no one's ever asked me to teach them anything.”

“Why not?” Mary turned around again, a puzzled look on her face. “The women should be falling all over you.”

Dryly, he said, “They do, for about thirty seconds. Most of them lose interest in me when they find out what I am.”

“So, you're a Marine. I've never seen one who made the uniform look bad.”

He shook his head slightly. “That's not it. I'm a tank.”

“You're a what? A tank? What the hell is that?” Before he could start to answer, she continued. “Oh, you're one of those guys they grew in some sort of tank. I get it. The ones that people said were going to take away all of the jobs and stuff.” Mary snorted. “Yeah, right. They said that when the Irish immigrated here during the Potato Famine, when blacks were given their freedom, when women were given equality. It's an old story that never changes, just who's being targeted.”

“I think I better brush up on my social history.” McQueen cocked his head slightly to the side. “What sort of dances does Becky need to know?”

Mary shrugged, glancing down at Joey who was starting to fuss. “The usual, I think. Waltz, foxtrot, that sort of thing.”

“As it happens, I do know how to dance. I would be pleased to teach Becky.” It had amazed him the first time he had ventured onto the dance floor with a woman who didn't care he was a tank. He had impressed them both with his skill and, since then, he had studied on his own.

“Oh, thank you, Captain.”

The smile Mary gave him held no guile and he said, “You don't need to call me captain. McQueen will do.”

“Ok, McQueen. Have Becky bring you home with her. We won't keep you too long, I don't think.”

“Very well.”

“Let me take the angel home with me. You can pick it up there. See you later.” Mary walked up the street and he watched her until she was out of sight.

McQueen shook his head at her unconventional behavior. A man brushed past him, apologized and hurried into the store. With a sigh, McQueen turned his attention back to his duty, much as it bored him today. The frazzled shoppers rarely took notice of him today, though the box was nearly three quarters filled, for the fourth time since he had started a week ago. A nod usually accompanied the toy being dropped into the box as the shopper hurried off with their own purchases.

Two more toys, a doll and a remote control car, were dropped off and the woman took the time to smile at him. “It's such a nice thing you do. I'm always happy to contribute. After all, I was one of those children once. Have a nice day.” Even as he started to respond, she was gone, out the door and around the corner, packages tucked under her arm.

Bemused, McQueen shook his head slightly and turned to answer a tug on his sleeve. A harried looking man in an overcoat that had seen better days asked, “What do you need?”

“Something besides dolls and cars. Stuffed animals would be good.” He wondered if the man could really afford to spend money on buying toys for disadvantaged kids.

“It's ok. I've got the money. I don't have a family, not anymore.” The man's face turned tight with remembered pain.

Something about the man's face sparked a memory. “You were held by the AIs.”

The man glared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before they widened in surprise. “You were at the camp. I remember you now. You kept trying to escape. They kept asking me why you did. All I could tell them was I guessed you felt it was your duty.”

“I'm due a break. Would you care for a cup of coffee?” When the man hesitated, looking at the mass of people waiting in line, McQueen said, “There's somewhere more private. Only one other person will be there.”

Still the man hesitated before sighing, his shoulders drooping. “I'm dying for a cup of coffee. I haven't had any decent stuff since before my capture.”

“This way.” McQueen walked the man back to the Crosby's office. “Nate, this gentlemen,” McQueen glanced at the man, realizing he hadn't asked his name.

“Charles Wright. The captain offered me a cup of coffee.”

“Sit down, Charles.” Crosby waved to the chairs. “Go get the coffee, McQueen. He'll be fine here with me.”

By the time McQueen returned from battling his way through the crowd of people waiting for their orders for the coffee carafe and three cups, he found Crosby and Wright talking quietly.

“I'm sorry for your loss, Charles. It's not easy losing family. I lost my wife ten years ago and I still wake up expecting her to be beside me.” Crosby took the filled cup from McQueen.

“So, Mr. Wright, it was your family I was told about in the camp.” McQueen handed him some coffee.

Wright's brow furrowed and he nodded curtly. “Yes. I'm an AeroTech computer specialist. The AIs thought I could modify some program for them. It was a defense grid program for the UN. Millions of people would have died.” His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the mug. His voice held a bleakness McQueen knew only too well. “I couldn't do it. So instead of millions, my wife and two kids died.”

Feeling awkward, McQueen sipped his coffee, not knowing what to say. He caught Crosby's subtle gesture toward the door. Quickly he topped off his mug and ghosted out of the room. Closing the door quietly, he saw Derrick headed for the office and shook his head.

“Not just now. He's busy helping someone.”

“Another lost soul, is it?” Derrick nodded. “Ok. I'll make sure they're not interrupted. Don't worry about the fellow. Mr. Crosby will take good care of him.”

An hour later, his stomach reminding him it was time to eat, McQueen looked up as Crosby approached. The man smiled at him sadly. “A good job, McQueen. I've taken care of Charles. Given him a place to stay and something constructive to do. AeroTech has done its usual bang up job. Three days of shrink work and then they let him go home. Fools, all of them. Anyway, McQueen, he'll be fine. You don't need to worry about him now.”

“I-”

Crosby pinned him with his sharp gaze. “Yes, you were worried and you didn't have the vaguest idea of how to help the man. Offering him coffee was a good start.” The sharp gaze turned gentle. “You'll do just fine, McQueen.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Ready to come in and eat?”

“Yes, sir. I'm starving.”

Crosby laughed and slapped McQueen on the arm. “Never knew a military man who wasn't.”

**** 

McQueen sipped the coffee that Mary had handed him on his entrance to the meager home of her family. The house was immaculately clean and he had to look hard to find evidence of Mary's profession. His quiet questioning of Becky had brought to light the fact that Mary was a seamstress, a profession that was making a come-back. More people wanted well made clothes that were tailored to them, not just off the rack, making them look like everyone else. It was a good occupation for at home, allowing Mary to work around whatever came up. At the moment, Mary was shifting some furniture around, having quite firmly refused his offer of help. 

A small hand appeared on his knee and McQueen gave Joey a smile. “Careful, it's hot.”

“Come on, Joey, I've got something for you to eat.” Becky steered Joey toward the kitchen.

“That should be enough room.” Mary stood, hands on her hips, surveying the open floor space she had created.

“Looks good.”

“Becky, come here, please.” Mary sighed as Joey followed on Becky's heels, munching on a pretzel. “I was hoping to save those for tomorrow. Oh, well.”

The next hour passed quickly, ending with a lovely waltz. Becky turned out to be a quick learner and enjoyed herself. To his surprise, McQueen found himself having a good time. As he stepped away from Becky after the last waltz, he caught the wistful smile that Mary swiftly hid. 

Bowing to Becky, he whispered, “Could you take your brother out of the room for a bit?”

“Sure.” Becky grinned.

Becky scouted out of the room with Joey, talking a mile a minute. 

A worried look after her daughter and Mary turned to McQueen, finding him standing before her with his hand outstretched. “Oh, no, not me.”

As she started to look panic-stricken, McQueen said, “You should know how as well. It's something everyone should learn. I'm here. Let me teach you.”

“I'm a klutz. I'll step all over your feet.”

“I'm willing to take the chance.”

Slowly, her hand crept into his.

Contrary to her opinion, Mary learned after only a couple of toe stompings. She laughed softly, suddenly confident, as she glided after him. “Joe kept meaning to teach me. He loved to dance and hated not being able to with me.” Her face fell and she pulled away.

McQueen managed to rein in his desire to ask her for Joe's last name. He sighed and said, “I should get back to base.”

“Thank you, McQueen. For both of us.”

“You're welcome.”

As he jogged through the night, Becky's angel tucked safely into a pocket, McQueen mentally hit his head against a wall. Damn, would he never find out the man's name?

**** 

Several days later, McQueen found himself far too busy off duty to socialize. The 127th had returned, weary and drained from a fruitless search for enemy AIs, and he spent his time taking notes and trying to help the others figure out what had gone wrong. Not all of the AIs had been destroyed during the raid that had freed McQueen and many others.

Dragging himself out of bed in the dark, McQueen shivered and quickly ducked into a hot shower. As the water cascaded over his body, he sighed, regretting all the lost time. He was still no closer to solving the mystery of Lt. Joe than he had been a week ago.

The strident ringing of his video phone terminal brought him out, wet and cursing. Setting it to sound only, he snapped, “McQueen!”

“Sounds like I caught you at a bad time, Captain. Sorry. This is Father Douglas. I've heard from Father O'Reilly. He said you need to talk to a Lt. Petersen, all e's. At least, he was a lieutenant three years ago. In the 51st squadron. Petersen came to him just before a big push against the AIs. Said that his buddy Joe had talked him into being best man at his wedding, but that he had never even met the woman his best friend had fallen for. Joe appears to have kept his woman a secret from everyone up until the day before the wedding. They were both shipped out on the mission the night before the wedding. Unfortunately, Father O'Reilly was transferred before either of them returned, so he doesn't know where they are or understand why this Joe hasn't gotten in touch with the woman. Petersen said Joe was excited about the fact he was going to be a father. Even had made an appointment to have the woman and her daughter put on his life insurance as benefactors.” Douglas paused. “Does any of this help, McQueen?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Glad to be of service.” McQueen could hear the man's smile. “Now I'll let you get back to whatever it was I interrupted. Later, Captain.”

“Good day, sir.”

Feeling somewhat better than he had on awakening, McQueen scurried back to his shower. He dressed quickly afterward and sat down before his computer terminal. A quick search showed that the 51st Squadron had been transferred to a California base and only one Petersen was in the roster. 

Ten minutes later, he growled with frustration and snapped his vid-phone off. Captain Petersen had left the day before on a mission and there was no estimate as to when his squad would return. He had left a message asking for Petersen to contact him at the earliest convenient moment. 

He had done all he could for the moment, McQueen reflected. Now, he just had to wait. Glancing at the clock, he saw he would still be in time for breakfast.

**** 

A snarl escaped McQueen as his vid-phone rang, startling him and causing him to mess up the complex Japanese letter he had been practicing. Muttering under his breath, he wheeled his chair back from the dining room table and activated the vid-phone. “McQueen.”

A man appeared on the screen with brown hair, brown eyes and a tired worn face. “Captain McQueen, I'm Captain Petersen. I believed you left a message for me to call you. Sorry it's taken so long. We only got back this morning and I've just gotten out of my debriefing an hour ago.” The man ran a hand through his hair and tried to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. It's been a very long day.”

McQueen's irritation vanished and he swiveled around to sit squarely before the vid-phone. “I'll try not to keep you too long then. Not quite three years ago, your best friend at the time asked you to be best man at his wedding.”

“How'd you know that?” Petersen glared at McQueen, tiredness flushed from his face momentarily.

“Father O'Reilly. I'm trying to find out who this fellow Joe is and why he never got in touch with the woman. Before I tell you the rest, was your friend this Joe fellow I'm searching for?”

“Yeah, his name was Joe.” Petersen sank back in his chair, sadness in his eyes.

“Damn. When?” All too familiar with the look and tone, McQueen slumped back himself.

“Two days in. We never found his body, but knowing Joe, he would have gone through the fires of Hell to get back to her. The funny thing is, although he talked about her, he always called her Mary and never once told me her last name. That morning, it was like he knew. He gave me the ring, told me that I was to make sure she got it, just in case. Before I could remind him that I didn't know who to give it to, we were sent out. I never got to talk to him again.” Wearily, Petersen scrubbed his face. “So, Captain, what's this all about?”

“It's a bit of a story.” It took McQueen ten minutes to tell what he knew. “About that ring... I can get it to her, if you want.”

“You know, it's a funny thing. While I was listening to your message, I opened my dresser drawer and there was the ring. Like it knew it was time. Get me your address and I'll send it over immediately. Tell her...” Petersen hesitated, thinking while McQueen typed quickly, his address being sent to Petersen's vid-phone for storage. “Tell her Joe was a good man. He treated everyone fairly and rarely said a bad thing about anyone. Tell her, if I'd known who she was, I'd have come see her before now.”

“I will. Before I let you go, just what was Joe's last name?”

“Campbell. Like the soup or the philosopher. Joseph Campbell.”

“Philosopher?”

“Look him up. He's worth it.” Petersen yawned hugely and smiled self-deprecatingly. “If you'll excuse me, I think I better head for bed. I'll mail the ring when I wake up.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You're welcome, Captain. I'm glad to have some of the puzzle solved. If you could send me a picture of this Mary, I would be obliged. I've always wondered what she looks like.”

“Done.”

McQueen sat back, the vid-phone off and smiled. Well worth some ruined calligraphy.

**** 

By the time McQueen arrived at Crosby's at noon the next day, he was feeling both frustrated and satisfied. Three hours spent with Major Kirby had been enough to raise his blood pressure, though the man had come around to his view of things finally. Kirby remembered Campbell for the simple reason that, first thing in the morning, the lieutenant had wanted to make a woman he hadn't even married yet his beneficiary against military law. Once he had been informed of the fact, Campbell had made an appointment for late in the afternoon of the following day, only he never made it. The major had forced a proviso to McQueen's idea, but would get the ball rolling until vetoed. An appointment request to see the base commandant had finished off his morning, leaving McQueen to wonder if he would manage to get everything organized before Christmas, but he was sure going to try.

“Now that, my friend, is a Cheshire Cat smile,” remarked Crosby, catching sight of McQueen coming in the door. He steadied himself against the bookshelf and smiled. “So, is it something you can share?”

McQueen shook his head slightly. “Not yet. I don't want to get any hopes up.”

“Oh, one of those.” Limping, Crosby returned to his desk, setting the book down before resuming his seat.

“Which one is that?” McQueen asked, nodding toward the book as he strode over to the settee and the Eastern meditation book he had started reading two days before.

“The first book of the Horatio Hornblower series. I just feel nautical today.”

“Funny, you don't look it.” McQueen grinned as he sat down.

“Quick, someone call the news. Ironman cracked a joke.” Crosby returned the grin. “When do you start today?”

“Twelve thirty.” He had learned to give Crosby civvie times rather than burden the man with something else to work out.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, but it should be along shortly. I asked them to send it in.”

“Good, good. We'll make a commanding officer out of you yet, McQueen.”

“No one wants to take orders from a tank, Nathaniel.”

“And what would happen to someone who refused an order?”

“You know as well as I do that it wouldn't matter. I'm a tank. Damn few people respect my kind. You're one of a few, Nathaniel. I'll be lucky to ever make Major.” McQueen shook his head. “No, I'll stay a captain for a long time.”

“Maybe. You never know. And McQueen, if you think of yourself as a tank, then that's how they'll think of you as well.”

“Maybe.” It was something to think about anyway.

**** 

The night had a cold feel to it, McQueen noted as he headed for his quarters. Overhearing some old timers shaking their heads about the snow falling in Alabama over the last three years and wondering if it would fall again this year, he had looked up the weather history of the region. It had surprised him to find that snow in Alabama had been an extreme rarity earlier in the century. 

A man stepped out from the billet officer's office as he passed. “Captain McQueen, I hope?” The man snapped a salute.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” McQueen answered warily, returning the salute and not recognizing the lieutenant.

Holding out his hand, the lieutenant said, “Captain Petersen asked me to make sure you got this. I've been hanging around all afternoon waiting for you.”

“I've got day duty in town.” He took the small box from the lieutenant.

“Yeah, I heard. I love doing the TOTs duties. Don't you, sir?”

“It has been... enlightening.”

“Ah, not a kids' man.” The lieutenant grinned. “I'll be on my way, then, sir. If I hurry, I can still catch a flight back to the West coast.”

“Thank Captain Petersen for me, Lieutenant.”

“I will, sir.”

As the lieutenant vanished into the darkness, McQueen thumbed open the box. Nestled inside was a gold ring with roping around the edges. Snapping the box shut, McQueen shoved it into his pocket and turned back to the path home. He would have to see Major Kirby in the morning.

The blinking message light on his vid-phone drew him immediately on his entrance. He hit the play button. An immaculate male lieutenant appeared. “Captain McQueen, you are granted an appointment at ten thirty hours on the twenty-fourth. I'd advise you not to be late. The commandant is extremely busy that morning. Good day.”

McQueen recorded the time and date on his calendar. The twenty-fourth was the day after tomorrow. Damned, where had all the time gone? 

Fortunately, he had done what little shopping he had intended. Crosby's present he had found the other day when he had ducked into the quiet of a little bookshop to escape the mad throngs of people on the street. One shelf alone in Crosby's office was devoted to Tolkien and in the bookshop, he had come across a 1970 hardback edition of all four books in excellent condition, especially considering their age. Some sticker shock had ensued with the cost, but he thought Crosby well worth the money. 

A hip flask with a clipper ship on it had been mailed to Ross, the Navy Seal who persisted in calling once a week to see how he was doing. He had reluctantly agreed to spend New Year's Eve with Ross and dreaded a wild night on the town. 

For Mary he had gotten a new sewing machine having seen the worn shape of the one she had been using. Young Joey would be getting some take apart vehicles and other miscellaneous toys while his sister, Becky, would be getting a computer terminal and some schooling programs. Even with the discount Crosby had insisted on giving him, he had been surprised by how much it all cost. No wonder everyone complained about the expense of Christmas.

Almost as bad had been trying to figure out wrapping the items. Crosby had taken pity on his bewilderment and had sent it all over to the gift wrapping department, sending him along in order to watch and learn. So at least he had been able to wrap Crosby's present without making a complete fool of himself.

A muscle twinged in his shoulder, setting off the aches and pains accumulated over the last month. He decided to forgo a night trip to the gym and instead indulge himself in a bath for once, something he had never even conceived of before arriving on Earth.

**** 

Eating breakfast in the Officers' Mess, McQueen shook his head slightly at all the moaning people were doing about still having more shopping to do on Christmas Eve of all days. 

One of his squadron, a Lieutenant Lawrence who enjoyed needling him about his Invitro status, laughed sharply. “Look at McQueen. He's laughing at us all. What does he know? A tank doesn't have anyone to buy presents for.”

McQueen allowed himself a satisfied smile. “On the contrary, Lieutenant. I've spent a considerable sum on presents this year.”

“And just what do you consider a considerable sum, McQueen? Fifty bucks?” Lawrence sneered, slapping another member of the squad on the shoulder.

“Must be what you spent, Lawrence. I hope they appreciate your generosity. For my part, I spent over seven hundred credits and I'll be spending another hundred or so today. I value my friends.” McQueen rose, nodding politely as he carried his empty dishes over to the counter.

“Over seven... ah, hell, no way he's spent that much. How could he have that much set aside?”

Someone groaned, “Lawrence, don't you ever pay attention? The man got damn near three thousand in compensation for what the AIs did to him.” The voice grew grim. “Not nearly enough to pay for twenty days in the hands of those scum sucking things.”

“Twenty days? I don't believe it. Why the hell is he walking around then?” Lawrence stood up abruptly. “Come on, McQueen. Tell us how you chummied up to the AIs to make your time easy.” He shook off the hands striving to make him sit down.

Taking a deep breath and drawing on the calming techniques of the Eastern philosophies he was studying, McQueen turned and walked over to Lawrence's table. Keeping his voice calm and level was an effort, but he said, “Lawrence, shut the fuck up. I have no intention of ruining the holiday for the rest of these officers, describing what was done to me, because you can't believe I survived torture, and worse, at the hands of my captors.” He took another breath and took the plunge he had been avoiding since arriving in the 127th squadron. “It's all on record. Look it up and the records on similar incidents over the last hundred and fifty years. I expect a ten page report, a concise report, not a rant about me or Invitroes, on my desk by twenty hundred tonight, in triplicate. And be assured that I will not be the only one reading it, Lieutenant.”

The stunned look on Lawrence's face and his companions nearly made McQueen smile. They hadn't expected him to act like a superior officer. He nodded to the others briefly. “You have a lot to do, Lieutenant. Don't waste time.”

Spinning on his heel, McQueen walked out of the mess and felt a shudder run through him. Well, he had survived the first time putting his foot down. Tonight he would see if Lawrence actually performed the task. He could hear Crosby's voice telling him it was about time he started acting like an officer.

He still had a couple of hours before he was supposed to meet with the commandant and decided to spend them in the gym and swimming pool. The last thing he needed was to worry about his meeting.

****

McQueen nodded to Captain Brown and thanked the security officer for his assistance. As the jeep drove away, he squared his shoulders and entered the base headquarters, limping and holding his left arm close to his chest. 

The same lieutenant who had left the message looked up from an imposing metal desk and nodded. “He's expecting you, Captain. Go right in.”

His explanation for his lateness died on his lips and McQueen wondered what kind of trouble he was in. Seeing his hand shake as he reached for the doorknob made McQueen grimace and he paused to rally his flagging courage.

“It's ok, Captain. He knows why you're late.”

A deep breath and McQueen opened the door.


	3. Adestes Fideles - Endings and Beginnings

The names of all 'Space: Above and Beyond' characters contained herein are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Network. These names have been used without their permission. All else is my own creation.

Rating: NC17 Language, violence.  
Spoilers: None  
Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

Adestes Fideles

Chapter Three

“Captain McQueen, I expect.” The base commandant rose from behind his desk, returning McQueen's shaky salute.

“Yes, sir.” McQueen found General Thompson to be younger than he had expected, no older than Crosby, fifty or so. The black hair was graying at the temples and the brown eyes were sharp as they studied him.

“Sit down before you fall down, Captain. Doctor Stewart called from the hospital shortly after you arrived to explain you would be late. Apparently, you were quite determined to keep our appointment.” Thompson remained on his feet as McQueen sank gratefully into the indicated chair. “I've already read the preliminary report on the incident and the lieutenant will be dealt with. Attacking a superior officer over so minor a matter is not tolerated, no matter how one feels about that superior officer.”

“Sir, I-”

“No defending him, Captain. Lt. Lawrence is a good fighter pilot and soldier, but he's a fool and he's going to be treated like one. From everything I've read about you, Captain, you're ten times the man than the lieutenant. His only saving grace is he attacked you on his own, not with a gang. I understand that he'll be hospitalized for at least four days.”

“He caught me in the shower when I wasn't expecting it.” McQueen shrugged and winced as his left shoulder flared with pain despite the pain killers. “He managed to hurt me before I got over the shock of being attacked. I guess I'd gotten used to feeling safe.” He flinched as Thompson's hand came to rest on his good shoulder.

“Don't let one man destroy everything you've achieved, Captain. Nate tells me good things about you.”

“Nate, sir?” McQueen harbored his suspicions.

“Nathaniel Crosby. He and I grew up together. We planned on joining the Marines together and rising through the ranks, side by side. It was a bitter blow to him when he was informed that he could never join the military.” Thompson squeezed lightly and walked around to sit down. “You realize, don't you, Captain, that you're flight status has been put off for another two weeks?”

“Yes, sir,” sighed McQueen, a bitter twist to his lips. “I had hoped to be able to fly by the new year, but now it'll be the middle of January before I'm allowed in a cockpit.”

“The flight bug's got you good, Captain. I recognize the look.” Thompson chuckled. “Now, you didn't ask for an appointment this close to Christmas for a trivial reason.”

Understanding it to be a subtle order, McQueen said, “No, sir. At least, I don't think it is.”

****

Entering his quarters that night, McQueen dreaded the task that lay ahead of him. Somehow he had managed not to be late for his duty outside Crosby's store, but the painkillers had worn off half way through the shift and he had put off taking another for almost two hours until he couldn't stand the intense ache that shifted into outright agony whenever he had to use his left arm. Crosby had insisted that he take off an hour early and had ordered, as well as paid for, a taxi to take him home. Now all he had to do was prepare his dress uniform for tomorrow morning.

He spotted his message light flashing and sighed as he walked over to see it. Captain Collins appeared and he saw the signs of her anger. “Captain McQueen, I have been informed both of your needs and your injuries. If there's anything left of Lt. Lawrence when the general gets done with him, I'll teach him some manners myself. I am sorry that his bigotry has caused you injury. To make amends, I've detailed three of the squadron to prepare your dress uniform and intend to oversee the preparations myself. I apologize for the intrusion into your privacy, but I sincerely doubt you'll be looking forward to doing the work yourself. I will be by at oh six thirty hours to help you dress. Again, I am sorry for the lieutenant's rash actions. Captain Collins, out.”

Blinking at the now blank monitor, McQueen sat down with a thud, wincing as both his left hip and left shoulder protested the sudden movement. The anger in her voice wasn't directed at him exactly, he knew. She was angry that Lawrence had made the squadron look bad and was intent on rectifying the damage done. Whether or not she even liked him had nothing to do with her anger since he had understood from the first that she considered the squadron to be the pinnacle of her career so far. Lawrence's actions had smeared the squadron's reputation with the base commandant and she would go to any length to restore it. He wouldn't want to be in Lawrence's boots when she got a hold of him.

It took him a moment to rally his strength and will to get up. Opening his bedroom door, he was almost prepared for the sight of a mannequin standing there with his dress uniform, freshly polished, medals pinned neatly in a row, including the bronze Prisoner of War star. Drawing the sword out completely, he saw it had a bright sheen the entire length and nodded. Indeed the captain had ensured a thorough job.

Returning the sword to its scabbard, McQueen sighed, thankful he didn't have to use his left arm tonight. He decided to pass on a bath, opting to set his alarm for five in the morning. The extra sleep would do him more good and he could soak for nearly an hour after getting up.

****

McQueen opened the door on the fourth knock. “Captain, I appreciate this.”

Collins entered at his nod. “God, McQueen, you look awful. He sure did a number on you.”

Shrugging, McQueen closed the door, wincing as his hip protested.

She looked him over seriously and sighed. “Damn. You need help with more than dressing, don't you?” Irregular patches of stubble remained on his jaw and cheeks underscoring the spectacular black eye on the left.

Pride warred with necessity and McQueen had to glance away before he could look at her and say, “Yes.”

“You're lucky I happen to know how to shave. Just don't tell me you're one of those guys who prefer a straight blade.” She headed for the bathroom.

“Actually I do, but I have an electric. For speed.” He followed her, remembering that before arriving on Earth, he had never shaved. The feel of the steel blade as it cut away five years of beard had been a sensual sensation and he liked to reenact it every morning possible. Sometimes, though, time was of the essence and he used the electric for those occasions.

“Certainly wasn't for neatness.” Collins gave him a quick smile. “Don't mind me, Captain. I understood from the general that the Corps honor is at stake here, so I'll make sure you look good. If you'll take a seat, I'll neaten up that shave.”

“Thank you.. It's hard to do with only one hand.” He sat on the toilet seat cover and tilted his head up.

“Just how bad are you?” She picked up the electric and turned it on.

“It'll be the middle of next month before I get my flight status back.”

“Hard.” She started shaving his jaw.

By seven ten, they were struggling to get his left boot on. Collins paused, looking up at him sitting on the bed, seeing the sweat run down his face. “How did he hurt your hip?”

“He aggravated an injury I sustained in the camp. The AIs wrenched the muscles, dislocated my hip and twisted my leg beyond its normal limits. It took me twelve hours to manage to put it back into place and another four days to even be able to touch my foot to the floor without screaming. Lawrence partially dislocated it again with his knee slam. The doctors think in about five days I'll be fine.”

Collins looked down at his foot, stuck in the boot and sighed. “I hate to say this, McQueen, but I think you're just going to have to bite the bullet.”

He swallowed and nodded. “I think you're right, unfortunately.”

Taking her offered arm, McQueen struggled to his feet. “Don't let me fall, hm? I'd hate to wrinkle this more than I already have.”

Collins snorted and shook her head slightly. “Dammit, man. Here you are about to cause yourself some intense pain and you're cracking jokes? You're right. You do have a morbid sense of humor.”

He took a deep breath, set his jaw and shifted all of his weight onto his left leg. The intense flash of pain strained his throat with a strangled scream, caused his vision to darken and he started to collapse. Strong arms caught him and lowered him onto the softness of the bed, something he had never thought the mattress to be. The darkness overcame his vision.

“McQueen?”

The anxious sound of Collin's voice penetrated the fog of pain clouding his brain and he slowly opened his eyes, surprised that they were closed. “And just think, I have the lovely experience of taking it off to look forward to,” he croaked.

“Here, I got you some cool water.” 

A hand lifted his head and he sipped the water she offered. After a moment, he lifted his head. “Do you think someone would notice if I left the boot on?”

“Afraid so. Don't worry. I'll have two people here to help you undress when you're ready. They'll deal with removing the boot.” She picked up a washcloth from the nightstand and started wiping it over his buzz cut. “Good thing you keep your hair so short. I can just wipe the sweat away and leave your hair clean.”

“Why'd you think I kept the style? After what I've been through, I never want it long enough for someone to grab me by it.” He used his right arm to lever himself up to a sitting position, paling from the intensity of the residual pain. A deep breath and he sought to center himself, letting the pain reside elsewhere momentarily. With a groan he lurched to his feet and stood, swaying.

“Is this really worth it?”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “Would you get two pills from the bottle on the top shelf, please? I think this qualifies as a pain killer moment.”

She hurried away into the bathroom as he forced himself to take a step, swaying dangerously.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? Trying to find out how the carpet tastes?” She grabbed his hand, depositing the two pills in it, before turning to the nightstand for the water.

“I have to be able to walk.” He popped the pills into his mouth and drank deeply of the water, feeling himself slowly recover.

She hovered by his side as he forced himself to walk. By eight, he felt about the same as he had the previous night. When a knock sounded, it was Collins who answered the door. Three lieutenants, in dress uniforms, stood on the doorstep.

“Captain, we're here to provide escort for Captain McQueen,” one of the lieutenants said.

All three of the lieutenants stared wide-eyed when McQueen approached the door, his hat tucked under his arm.

“The captain is injured and I want you to make sure he does not overdo it. General Thompson is expecting this to go without a hitch.” Collins glared at the lieutenants, hands on her hips.

“We'll take care of the captain, Captain,” the first lieutenant said, straightening.

McQueen glanced over at the wrapped presents. “I don't know where the general is planning on having this. I need to get the presents there.”

“Don't worry about it, McQueen. I'll take care of it. The general's aide will know and I'll remember to send word to the gate so that they'll tell you where to go.”

McQueen grinned. “A great many people have done that, but never for anything like this.”

Shaking her head at him again, Collins waved him toward the door. “Go get this ball rolling.”

“Thanks, Captain.” McQueen paused in the door. “I appreciate it.”

“Just get going. You don't want to keep the general waiting.”

“No.” He put his hat on and limped outside. Grimacing, he turned back around, keeping Collins from shutting the door. “Doped up the way I am, it's surprising I haven't forgotten my head this morning.” He glanced at the first lieutenant's name tag. “Lieutenant Meeker, on the kitchen table are three white boxes. Would you please fetch them?”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant darted inside.

A long officer's car, reminiscent of a limousine, waited on the street and McQueen eased himself into the back seat with some help from Lieutenant Meeker. He gave the address and directions before removing his hat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“Sir, we're here,” came the quiet voice from beside him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” McQueen sighed and opened his eyes. He found that his door was already open and that Meeker had been addressing him from outside. Shaking his head at his own folly, he accepted the arm Meeker held out and wrenched himself to his feet, barely suppressing the hiss of pain.

“Sir, are you sure about this address?” Meeker gave surreptitious glances up and down the dingy, dark street.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He glanced around, and smiled on seeing that another lieutenant held the three boxes. “To the front door, gentlemen. I'll do my best not to fall down and disgrace the uniform.”

McQueen knocked on the door, preparing for the outburst sure to follow the opening.

The door opened and Mary stared at him, surprised, for a few seconds. Then she snapped, “You look like hell, McQueen, and what do you think you're playing at? It's Christmas morning and I don't need some silly game.”

“It's not a game, Mary. May we come in, please?”

She searched his face and slowly backed up away from the door. “It's about Joe, isn't it?”

“I'm afraid so.” McQueen reached into his pocket and took out the first of two small boxes. “I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Joseph Campbell, of the 51st Marine Corps Squadron, was killed on March 10th, 2058, in action against enemies of the United States of America. As he was an orphan and it was to have been his wedding day, General Thompson, commandant of Loxley Marine Corps Aviation Cavalry Base, has authorized you to receive his Silver Star, earned while saving the lives of ten civilian scientists.” He held out the box, having decided to not tell her there was no body.

Slowly, Mary took the box and opened it. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks as she ran her fingers over the medal. She looked up at McQueen. “Why? Why did you do this?”

He brought out the second box. “Mary, Lt. Joseph... Joe gave this to his best friend for safe-keeping, telling him to give this to you, only he never got to tell him your name. So, I've tracked down his best friend and he sent this to me, telling me to let you know that Joe was a good man.”

Mary set the first box down and hesitated on taking the second box from McQueen. When she opened it, she stared for a long second before dropping it and covering her face with her hands, sinking to her knees on the floor. Her sobs reached McQueen and he bit his lip, forcing himself to wait.

“Mother?” He looked up at Becky's voice. “What did you do to her?” Becky, dressed in patched and worn pajamas, raced into the room and wrapped her arms around her mother.

“It's ok. He didn't do anything, Becky.” With a shaky hand, Mary patted Becky's arm while retrieving the box from the floor. She stood up and set the box on the table beside the other one. “Thank you, Captain. It's good to know, finally. Even if it dashed all my secret hopes.”

“We're not quite finished, Mary. I didn't dress up just to inform you of his fate and give you the ring. There's more.” He waved the lieutenant carrying the boxes forward. Handing her the smallest box, he said, “Becky, take this box and dress your brother. You get dressed in what's in this box, young lady,” he told her as he handed her the medium sized box.

“Why?” Becky clutched the boxes close.

“You can't go meet General Thompson in what you normally wear and I sincerely doubt you have anything suitable.”

“Really?” Becky raced from the room. “Joey! Wake up! We got to bathe really fast.”

“McQueen, we can't go.” Mary looked at him, scared.

“It'll be ok. Trust me. Now, this box is for you. Go get dressed. Hurry up, Mary. We're due to meet the general in forty mikes.. ah, minutes.”

For just a moment, she stared at him, her eyes staring deep into his, her hands over her chest. Then with a swift movement, she grabbed the box and ran from the room. “Help yourself to something to drink,” she called out over her shoulder.

Dryly, McQueen said, “Unfortunately, the only thing I would really like, I can't have for another three weeks.”

“It's tough being pulled from flight status,” Meeker said in a low voice to him. “I lost it for a month and a half after a fool had disabled his computer safety programs and went driving drunk. I was lucky, he caught me a glancing blow, broke my leg in two places and three ribs. Two others weren't so lucky. They would have thrown the book at him if he'd lived.” Meeker shrugged. “No beer, no wine, nothing... and locked behind a desk for six weeks. Agony it was. The first thing I did when I could was go to the Officers' Club and drink two beers.”

“I think I would like a scotch.” McQueen eyed the sofa, wondering if he dared to sit down.

“Go sit down, sir. I'll help you up.”

McQueen glanced at Meeker warily.

Meeker met his look squarely. “I have no problem with Invitroes, sir. I've known several, including two who served my family. With pay.”

Seeing no guile in Meeker's eyes, McQueen limped over to the sofa and eased himself down.

A few minutes later, Becky walked out, holding Joey by the hand, and McQueen smiled, pleased with his choices. Dark blue slacks, vest and jacket over a cream colored shirt made Joey the little gentleman, finished off with a pair of black slip on shoes. The full length, powder blue dress he had chosen for Becky complimented her tanned skin and the lace across the V-neck stood out beautifully. The black shoes were on wide, raised heels, only an inch so as not to interfere with her walking or dancing.

“I love it,” Becky grinned, releasing Joey long enough to twirl in place. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

She brought Joey over to the sofa and sat him as far from McQueen as she could. “What happened to you?”

“Someone didn't like me.”

“Hope he looks worse than you.”

“He does. He's still in the hospital.” McQueen shifted, trying to take some of the weight off his left hip.

Becky bit her lip and looked at her brother. “Joey, come in the kitchen with me.”

Several minutes later, the two children returned, Becky carrying a steaming cup. “Try this tea. Mom gives it to us all the time to help ease aches and pains.” When he looked at the cup uneasily, she added, “It's ok. It's all natural herbs and stuff. Nothing to worry about. It even tastes good. I added a bit of honey since you haven't had it before.”

Taking the cup, McQueen sniffed the steam, identifying only orange and honey. The rest were beyond his meager knowledge of herbs and foods. Cautiously he sipped the tea and found he liked the taste. Warmth spread through him quickly, making him realize he had been feeling cold. The tea disappeared quickly.

Handing the cup back, he said, “Tastes good. What exactly is in it?”

“Family secret, but if you come back, I'll teach you how to make it and some other handy ones,” Mary said from the hall.

McQueen heard the intake of the lieutenants' breaths and knew he had made another good choice. He turned to look.

The simple, yet classic, strapless navy blue dress clung to her upper body while swirling freely about her legs. A black shawl with silver stars wrapped around her shoulders and he saw she had taken the time to put her hair up in a French bun leaving ringlets by her face. 

She flowed across the floor to stop before him. “Well?” she asked nervously.

“I regret the fact that I will not be able dance with you.” McQueen accepted the hand that Meeker gave him and dragged himself to his feet, wincing as he had to put weight on his leg. “We better go now.”

The drive back kept McQueen amused as both Becky and Joey bounced excitedly in their seats, only their seatbelts keeping them in place. Beside him, Mary clutched her purse nervously, chewing on her lip from time to time.

Meeker drove to the Senior Officers' Club, pulling up smoothly before the door. Quickly the other two dove out their door to open the back doors. Pulling himself erect outside the car, McQueen held out his arm for Mary, nodding with approval when Meeker took Becky's arm and took Joey's hand.

Inside the club, McQueen turned right, trying hard to mask his limp. One of the other lieutenants darted ahead to open the door. A glittering array of Marine uniforms, twenty in all, were revealed on the other side. In the center of the room stood Major General Thompson who snapped to his head up and called, “ATTEN-hut!' as he spotted the entourage entering.

Mary gasped as all twenty Marines snapped to attention and saluted. “What is going on, McQueen?”

“We're about to rectify a wrong done to you, Mary.” McQueen looked at Becky. “Stay back here with Joey, Becky. Ok?”

The girl nodded, her eyes wide. She immediately knelt and wrapped her arms around her brother.

Stepping forward, McQueen felt Mary falter briefly before quickly keeping pace with him. He stopped before the general and returned the salute, slipping into an attention stance. “Sir, I bring before you a matter touching on the honor of the Corps. I bring to you, Mary Carpenter.”

Thompson nodded and turned his gaze on Mary, who shivered once and forced herself upright. “Mary Carpenter, I have been informed of the circumstances surrounding you and Lt. Joseph Campbell. Having talked to Captain Petersen, Father O'Reilly and Captain McQueen, I spent yesterday making arrangements to rectify the situation. Major Kirby.”

From the side, Major Kirby stepped forward, holding a flag with a manila envelope on the top. “Mary Carpenter, we give to you this flag as a remembrance of Lt. Campbell's life and death. He died bravely. We also give you the rights and privileges of being his spouse. Your children are granted the rights and privileges of being his children.”

As Kirby held out the flag and envelope, Mary hesitated, looking at McQueen almost frantically. 

“Go on, Mary,” McQueen said quietly. “Our honor as Marines is at stake here as is our oath of faithfulness. For we pride ourselves on being always faithful. Semper Fi is more than just words to us.”

“I'm sorry. I just was so hurt....”

“Take it, remember him. Know he was a good man who died bravely, defending others who could not defend themselves.” McQueen pushed her gently toward Kirby.

Tears started down her cheeks as she took the flag from Kirby. “Thank you,” she said softly. Looking at Thompson, she said, louder, “Thank you. It's more than I ever expected. I think... I think I can forgive him now, for leaving without a word.”

“Ma'am, he never had a chance to let you know.” Thompson stepped forward and took her hand, giving her a sad smile. “From what I've put together, the moment he returned to base, he was ordered to get his kit and shipped out within fifteen minutes. There was no time for him to contact you and, once at his destination, he was under blackout orders. I'm sorry you've thought he was faithless all this time. The only thing I can fault him for was keeping you a secret for so long. No one knew who you were, not even his best friend.”

“He wanted to surprise everyone.” Mary hugged the flag to her.

“I've arranged for you to be able to stay through the day and enjoy our festivities. There is a small room over there set aside for you and your children to retreat to, if you get a bit overwhelmed.” Thompson gestured to a door on the far side of the room. “Will you please stay?”

“You're asking me?”

“I have no right to order it, you know.” He smiled at her. “I understand there are even some presents in there for you and your family.”

“But who?” Mary looked around, clutching the flag, and saw her children watching her anxiously. Forcing herself to calm down, she nodded. “Yes, we'll stay, at least for a while.”

“Good.” Thompson nodded to the others. “At ease. Finish the preparations, ladies and gentlemen. Captain McQueen, why don't you escort them and get off your feet.”

Hearing it for the order it was, McQueen nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He shut the room's door behind them and limped his way over to the table where the presents he had bought sat. He noticed that there were more than what he had bought though. Sitting down, McQueen said, “Hm. I see what the general said. Seems to be a few presents for you here. Let's see.” He started sorting through the boxes. “Ah, Joey, here's one for you.”

The little boy took the box and promptly sat down, his hands eagerly tearing at the paper.

“Becky, here you go.” He pushed a present toward the girl and placed his hands on the biggest box, the one from him to Mary. “And Mary, this is for you.”

Mary slowly tore the paper off and stared at the picture of the sewing machine on the unopened box. Her eyes flashed to his. “Why did you...”

“I saw the condition of yours and I got this at a good price, at least I think so.” He smiled briefly. “I wanted you to have something practical yet something you couldn't get for yourself.”

“You shouldn't have. You should have kept your money for yourself.”

“What's better? The money sitting around in my bank account or my buying someone presents for the first time? I've never had money to buy presents or anyone to buy for. It took me a long time to decide what to get you and them.” He gestured to where the two children were playing with the toys they had found in their gifts.

“You've never done this before? But why not?”

“I'm an Invitro, Mary. No family. And the number of people who I might consider friends can be counted on one hand. Or possibly half a hand. I had hoped to include you in that number.”

“McQueen, this is just too much.” Mary sat down abruptly.

“I'm not looking for a romantic entanglement, Mary, just a friend. Someone I can talk to once in a while.”

“Like about what happened to your face?” Her hands dropped into her lap.

“Like that.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair. “So, how about it? Can we be friends?”

“I think so.” She looked down at her hands and then up at him. “Have you had lots of women friends?”

“As friends?” He shook his head. “No. They view me as a conquest, something to brag about, much like my fellow male Marines do about their women. When I feel the need, I'll let one have their 'conquest'. I've learned what I hate to see a woman in and what I really like.” He felt his cheeks redden as he continued. “You should have seen me in the store, trying to find you a suitable dress.”

Hand over her mouth, Mary laughed. “I can imagine.”

“I looked at all the dress sizes and had no idea which one was the right one. The saleswoman stepped up and asked me if I needed help. I'm sure I looked completely helpless.”

“I can just see it. The big, strapping Marine rendered helpless at the sight of all those dresses.” Mary giggled.

With a chuckle, McQueen continued. “Definitely. Must have been a sight. She started off asking me if she was roughly the right size as who I was buying for. Height wise she was, but she was much slimmer than you, everywhere.” He shook his head slightly. “I told her that I only knew what you were like in my arms. She laughed at me and said she was amazed at what lengths Marines would go to in order to cop a feel.”

“Oh, I bet that put your back up.”

Wryly, McQueen said, “I stiffened and told her that I was seriously looking for a dress and if she was going to laugh at me, I would have to go somewhere else.”

“Put her in her place, all right.”

“She looked at me, shook her head, and said that she guessed it was. So what did I have in mind?”

“What did you?” Mary leaned forward slightly, putting her elbows on the table.

“I asked her if she could waltz.” When Mary laughed, he continued. “She said she could and I was able to figure out what I needed to. I was close to the mark, wasn't I?” He looked at her anxiously.

“You did very well, McQueen. It's not too tight anywhere and just a little loose in a couple unobtrusive spots. Nothing I can't handle.” She reached over and patted his hand.

“McQueen, you said there were more presents for us?” Becky looked up from where she knelt on the floor.

“Sorry, I got talking to your mother. Here.” He handed each of them a couple of presents, including what he had gotten them, then pushed the couple of presents for Mary over to her. “Go on.”

A while later, a knock sounded on the door and it opened. Meeker stepped inside. “Excuse me, but the general asked me to inform you that the party is about to start.” When Mary looked at her children worriedly, he said, “Don't worry. There's a bunch of kids here and folks to keep an eye on them all. They'll be fine. There's another room set aside for the kids to play in.”

“Guess it's time then.” Mary rose and held out her hand for McQueen.

“Too bad I can't have the pleasure of a dance with you today,” he said once standing.

“Not even a slow waltz?”

He shook his head. “I'm under orders to stay off my feet as much as possible. Once I've escorted you out, I'll find myself a quiet nitche and settle down in peace. I'm not one for parties. They are a necessity I do my duty at.”

“Well, just remember you've got at least one friend here.” Mary tucked her hand into his elbow and matched his steps.

To McQueen's surprise, he saw Crosby in the room, talking to Thompson. 

****

Watching McQueen escorting Mary into the filled room, moving amongst the officers and their spouses, Crosby smiled. “He's a good man, McQueen.”

“He's everything we want a Marine to be,” remarked Thompson. “I think the Army is going to regret losing him.”

“You would need a heavy duty war for people to forget who and what he is, Mike.” Crosby shook his head slightly.

“You never know, Nate.” Thompson lowered his voice. “I've been hearing rumors about AeroTech. They've gotten permission to shoot for some colony ships and they seem far too confident about things. Yet, if the planets are as safe as they proclaim, why the hell are they investing so much time and energy into developing new fighters? Space capable fighters at that? And new weapons systems?” Thompson grimaced. “I think there's going to be a war, a bad one, and I'm more than happy enough to know that McQueen will be in the forefront.”

“That doesn't make me happy about it, but I know what you mean.” Crosby sighed. “Well, between the two of us, we should make him a damn fine Marine.”

“I'll leave his mental education to you, old friend. I'll work on his soldiering skills.” Thompson clapped his hand on Crosby's shoulder. “Now, let's go sample the buffet.”

****

McQueen glanced at the setting sun, grateful to be going to his quarters at long last. He found himself leaning heavily on Meeker's arm on the walk up to the door. Meeker stayed with him all the way inside and he headed for his bedroom. At the foot of the bed, he removed the sword's scabbard and set it onto the chair. The coat followed.

“Just sit down on the bed, sir. Even better, lie down. I'll get the boot off and then we'll take care of the rest.” Meeker waited until he had obeyed before lifting McQueen's left foot, straddling his leg. It took him a couple of minutes to work it off and he set it down before easing the leg down. He removed the other boot before turning around. On seeing the paleness in McQueen's face, he sighed. “Good thing you've been relieved of duty for the next two days. Are you going to need a go-fer?”

“I think I have some meals in the freezer. I should be able to manage.” McQueen sat up and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Any preference as to what you would like to change into?”

“How about someone with no injuries?”

Meeker chuckled. “Yeah, I know that one. A flight suit?”

“That'll do.”

Meeker pulled out a flight suit from the closet and set it on the bed. “I'll just go check out your freezer.”

Fifteen minutes later, McQueen entered the kitchen, barefoot, having managed to hang up his dress uniform. He found Meeker sitting at the table writing. To his surprise, he saw there were two wrapped presents on the table. “What...”

Meeker glanced up and saw his surprised look. “They were already here. I'm just writing up a list of stuff to get from the commissary. Even I don't let my fridge get that bare.” He chuckled. “I'd say you don't know anything about cooking.”

“Not really.”

“If I may make a suggestion, then. Find someone to teach you. It can come in handy, even in the field.”

“I might be able to, thank you.”

Meeker stood up, tucking the list into his pocket. “I'll be back in a bit with some dinner for you, sir. The rest of the stuff I'll drop off in the morning.”

“Thank you, Meeker.”

“You're welcome, sir.”

Once Meeker had shut the door behind him, McQueen turned his attention to the presents, still amazed that someone had given him some. One was from Crosby and another was from Mary. Opening the one from Crosby first, he found it was several of the books he had been reading most avidly in the office. He set the one on meditation aside from the others to read that night. Mary's present was a two foot tall teddy bear in a Marine dress uniform, complete with a little saber. 

Smiling and shaking his head, he carried the book and the bear into the living room. The bear went on the spare chair while he sat down in his favorite chair with the book. Contentment such as he had never known filled him. A bit of bright color caught his eye and he picked up the small wrapped box. He checked the card. 'To McQueen, From Ross.' Inside he found a miniature bonzai tree, complete with care instructions and a card. It said,'May it grow as you do.'

Sitting back, McQueen smiled, knowing that for him, the world was a better place. A month ago, he hadn't a friend in the world and no desire to have any. Now he had three. Quietly, he said, “Merry Christmas, McQueen.”


End file.
